It was a strange situation, both of us looking at each other, people all around us moving onwards in lives that were in no way connected to this moment. Neither of us wishing to say a word, waiting for the other to make the first move. There was a wave of relaxation when both of us accepted the moment, knowing that running was not the option to take here. However, it was still difficult to decide what the next step should be. There was a look of adoration, warmth and love in her eyes . She was waiting for me, feeling that since it was my life that was exposed, it should be me to act first. I gazed back.
She was a little smaller than average, but contained curves to her form that were very respectable. Nice clothes, classy but fairly inconspicuous, subtle colors. She did have a very lovely nervous smile playing on her lips while she stared. Her hands and fingers, so slim and delicate, made her look somewhat frail, but they had a sense of strange strength to them, as if she was able to crush something without much effort. Her stance was quite interesting too, relaxed and ready. She must have taken classes in self-defense or martial arts or learned to fight for herself some other way. It wasn't at all aggressive though, more defensive. Everything about her emanated subservience, the wish to follow with a dedication to go to the end of the earth and back.
Asking the right question in a situation like this, where a lot of the answers could be undesirable, was a tricky business. It was safe to go with the stupid questions first, to break the tension, to get us talking. Who she was, a simple question, was answered in a very unusual manner. Normally a person would answer only with their first name. While she certainly included her first name, Alex, a lot of other information was added, as show of subservience and the wish to be complete and correct. Along with her name she told me her age, 27, and her height and weight. After the answers, the look of expectation in her eyes was a marvelous site to behold. Like a loyal dog, she wanted praise for her actions. Instinctively I thanked her and complimented her. There was much more I wanted to ask, but not here.
She immediately offered to talk at her house, asking if I wanted her to drive me or follow in my own car. There was a moment of indecision on my part. While it was not convenient for me to be somewhere without my car, it was easy enough to take public transportation if I really had to. And if she was the killer, something I was fairly certain of, it wouldn't be wise to have my car seen where she lived. Who knows, perhaps the police were already on to her and staking out the place. At least it was a better option than taking her to my own house, although I was well aware that she already knew I lived.
The ride in the car was spent in silence, mostly because she didn't dare to speak without being spoken to but partially because I was paying attention to our route. It wasn't too complicated. She lived in a penthouse suite of a small apartment building. It wasn't very big, as such, but it had a nice view and the peace of having people only below you. The place was neatly decorated, with some paintings on the wall in subdued hues, stripes of color on the furniture to spice up the simpler backgrounds. The light fixtures were fairly standard, but they did join in with the rest by having a stripe of color over them, giving just a hint of color to the room if they were on. With it still being daylight, the large windows in the main room provided the illumination and a slightly disappointing and boring view.
Alex stood in the open kitchen while I walked through the living room and sat down on the sofa. She asked if I wanted something to drink, like a nice herbal tea or perhaps something alcoholic. It felt a little bit like a test. It was fairly rare for me to drink something alcoholic unless it was part of the hunt. Although a nice red wine was not to be scoffed at during company outings. Of course I chose tea, letting her decide upon the actual flavor. It smelled rather nice, actually, once she put the dried leaves in the boiling water. There was a lot of effort put into the presentation as well. A full tray with two cups, saucers, tea pot on top of a little candle holder with candle to keep it warm, sugar, milk, teaspoons and even a few slices of lemon in a bowl. Because she did not know how I took it, it was given with every possible variation, though I preferred it plain.
It was very nice tea.
More questions. Why? She answered aptly and truthfully after she sat down in the chair opposite me. There was no doubt in my mind that this was pure honesty. There was a glimmer of excitement in her voice in telling me all this, again looking for approval. I wasn't sure if I could give it quite yet. It was fun to listen to her though. The enthusiasm in her voice easily carried me from place to place, where she had stood, stalked and stared.
She had seen me in one of the clubs two months ago, leaving with a man. She had been curious because of subtleties in my behavior that suggested more than just looking for sex. She wasn't very good at talking to people she found interesting and had decided to follow me. Standing outside, being no more than a distant observer, she watched the light turning on in the window, lasting for a while and then switched off. I hadn't noticed the spying eyes on me as I left the building in a rather happy and highly satisfied manner. She tried to follow me then but had some trouble tracing me as her own car had not been nearby. The next time she found me, a few weeks later, was when the rape happened. She had been there, watching him violate my body.
It didn't anger me, to my surprise. It felt like she had done the right thing by not interfering. I probably would have felt worse if someone else had seen me like that and, for example, tried to call the police.
She did manage to trail me better then, learning where I lived and using it to delve deeper into who I was. A quick inserted question about how she recognized me, by my lips and movements, was interesting. She had admired the way I stumbled upon my rapist and how I used it to my advantage. Using an infra-red camera, she could follow my movements inside his den as I took my revenge.
She vividly explained the beauty of seeing the body fade from warm to cool, slowly, while I cleaned up. The first note was improvised, written on the hood of my car while I was making my way downstairs. She stayed to watch me read it, examine my car and cruise away, curiously confused.
She mentioned how much she rejoiced when she found out that I liked girls, surprised by my attempts at submissiveness with the mistress. It was a pity to her that she couldn't have been there up close, to see me execute, enjoy and excel. She had decided then, that she would meet me soon, hence the second note. It did not explain everything yet, like where she got the paper or if she had taken calligraphy courses. The rest was history, with the next note being delivered to my house. The why for that was rather entertaining: she wanted me to know that she knew where I lived. Of course the cat-and-mouse game we had played in town only moments before had confused her. She wasn't sure if it was what I wanted or if I had been testing her.
It was cute.
Her submissive nature was quite absolute, in a unique way. She made very strong choices, like following me without ever asking my permission. But she went to great lengths never to impose upon my experience or time. Writing that first note was a difficult step for her, as she wanted to meet me. After I asked about her past, she explained how she had followed several people in her life, only to be disappointed by them as she got to know them. People were often cruder, simpler or just more boring than she initially expected. She'd had boyfriends and girlfriends before, usually on a very platonic level, but had never seen anyone quite like me. It was very flattering.
Her beautiful eyes flickered with confusion for a moment as I completely surprised her with my commands. But quickly, very smoothly, her expression faded toward a warm, happy smile. This was the moment where she was fully certain that I was starting to accept her. She knew it was a test, knew the windows were wide open and that anyone who happened to look in this direction would see her. There was no shame, no doubt, no hesitation. There was only serving.
Very slowly, not hesitant but to let me enjoy it as much as possible, she started removing her top. Pale skin exposed by the erotic reveal. Her eyes were locked with mine as the fabric of her top was lifted. Her belly-button, above, the bottom of her white bra with red seams, the straps. The slight interruption when the cloth had to pass in front of her face, but still no rush. It was deliberate, delicate and desirable. No wonder she had been so careful with the people she chose. The wrong person could so easily abuse her, use her, discard her. Though I would not be too surprised if there would be revenge, very fiery revenge, if she was wronged.
Her top was off, neatly folded on the table.
She continued with her skirt, unzipping it and very slowly lowering it to her feet. Her panties matched her bra and looked delightfully delicious on her. Her pale skin was given a bit of color with the white, still contrasting with the red. Like her top, she took time to fold her skirt neatly. It was important to her not to make a mess. I stopped her before she started to unhook her bra, asking her to close the thin curtains and sit down next to me. There was one thing I needed to know before we continued, something less certain the longer I knew her. Was she the serial killer?